


A Lesson in Grace Under Pressure

by charis2770



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER 18, Accurate Portrayal of Healthy BDSM, Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Bondage, Boys Kissing, Consensual Discipline, Crying, Dorks in Love, Edging, Except for the filth, Figging, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Post Canon Relationships, Relatively Canon Compliant, Riding Crops, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Slash, Spanking, Teasing, That's all me, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 11:19:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12298179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charis2770/pseuds/charis2770
Summary: Yuri and his boyfriend Otabek have an agreement. There are certain....things Otabek does for Yuri to try to teach him how to be more patient and less volatile in situations where he normally blows up. Something happens on a trip to a minor competition in Italy that leads to another of these explosions, and Yuri asks Otabek for his help in their agreed-upon way. Otabek is more than willing to comply.Then there is sex.(Story takes place OVER two years into their relationship. Otabek is almost 21 and Yuri is almost 19)





	A Lesson in Grace Under Pressure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flurry of Dancing Awesome and their amazing S.O.](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Flurry+of+Dancing+Awesome+and+their+amazing+S.O.).



> This story is a gift for my offspring, Flurry of Dancing Awesome, on their 21st birthday, and for their lover and beloved member of our wacky family, whose birthday is just a day later. Yet another reason why they are disgustingly perfect and adorable together. 
> 
> Just so you kind readers will be aware, the two plan to dance to History Maker at their wedding. So this is for our own Beka and Yura. I love you both so much. Happy Birthday.

The competition was a minor one. It didn’t, in fact, even count for points on the circuit, but they’d decided they wanted to go anyway, because neither of them had ever been to Italy and they wanted to take a couple of days off after the event for a mini-vacation to see some of the sights. Yuri had been doing a lot better over the past couple of years in relating to his fans. He’d sign autographs sometimes and occasionally even pose for a picture. They’d been working hard on it together, in some rather….inventive….ways.

  


It was such a pleasure to watch his boyfriend skate. Otabek thought Yuri was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen on the ice. He had such passion. Such drive. He pushed himself too hard, of course, always determined to be the best. Or, more to the point, better than Yuuri and Viktor, whose choice to both make a comeback to skating  _ and _ continue to coach his husband had caused something of an uproar when it had happened. Otabek envied that single aspect of their relationship. Even though they were competitors now, there never seemed to be any hard feelings between them. Of course, Viktor generally scored higher than Yuuri, but the Japanese skater had managed to best him a few times. But no matter what happened, they were always truly, genuinely happy for each other. The previous year, Viktor had begun a campaign to get the International Skating Union to allow same-sex couples to enter in couples skating competitions. He and Yuuri were the poster boys and main spokespersons for the Foundation they’d created to push for a change in the rules. Otabek supported them wholeheartedly. Yuri, of course, because  _ they _ had come up with the idea, often claimed loudly that it was stupid, but he’d signed the petition, and in one of his more honest moments, had told Otabek that he’d love to skate together with him in a competition instead of against him. Otabek loved the idea. Even though he’d turned 18 several months ago, Yuri was still small and lithe and graceful. 

  


Besides, even though they were now lovers, Yuri competed against Otabek just as viciously as he did all the other skaters. It would be nice for that to be different. Otabek knew that Yuri was a better skater than he. It didn’t really bother him. He felt he represented Kazakhstan well. Yuri agreed with him. As long  they skated in different events or Yuri scored higher than he when they did not.

  


The small Italian event should have been a walk in the park. Yuri was in peak form. He’d been training like a demon in preparation for the upcoming Russian Championships. None of their friends were even attending. And despite all of Yuri’s grousing and insults, they’d actually become friend with Yiktor and Yuuri. They’d gone to the wedding together, and often went out to dinner following a competition. Otabek was before his lover in the lineup. 

  


This competition, however, had been a disaster. Well, not for Otabek. He’d discovered that the removal of the pressure of earning circuit points made it much easier to just relax and have fun with his routine. It had ended up being one of his best performances, and his scores reflected it.

  


When Yuri took to the ice a little later, the crowd went wild of course. And Yuri’s routine began beautifully. He’d been flawless. Even Otabek, used to watching him, had been entranced. But then it all went wrong. Just as Yuri was coming out of a jump, a little girl, seated in one of the VIP boxes near the glass, stood up in her seat and lobbed a plushie over the top of the glass. By sheer chance, because no person that tiny could possibly have aim that good, the plushie, which just happened to be a little stuffed Yurio doll, landed right in front of Yuri as he landed the quad flip flawlessly. And tripped over the doll. The judges gave it some consideration, and eventually offered Yuri the chance to skate his routine over again, but Yuri was spitting mad and had told them to shove their second chance up their asses. If they couldn’t control their crowd any better than that, he’d never set foot on their ice again. So he’d had to take the penalty for the fall, and even with that, he’d come in second. Behind Otabek.

  


The parents of the little girl had tried to apologize. They’d said the child adored Yuri and had only wanted to give him a present. Yuri had snorted, said some very uncomplimentary things about their parenting skills (thankfully in Russian rather than English), and stomped away, leaving Otabek to accept their apologies. His temperamental lover had gone on to refuse to sign any autographs, threatened to shove someone’s phone down their throat if they didn’t get it out of his face, and demanded to be taken back to the hotel. He hadn’t congratulated Otabek on his win either.

  


“You didn’t even earn that trophy,” he’d muttered sullenly in the taxi. Otabek had tried not to be hurt. He’d accepted Yuri’s temper when he’d fallen in love with him, but it had still stung. Maybe Yuri  _ would _ have beaten him if he hadn’t tripped over the toy, but Beka had skated better than he’d ever done. And nothing about the incident had been his fault. They finished the ride to the hotel in silence. Upon reaching their room, Yuri had stomped out onto the balcony and flopped down in one of the lounge chairs, hugging his knees to his chest and sulking. Otabek left him alone. In general, it was best for Yuri to have some time to cool off. Besides, he knew he was still a little hurt, and he didn’t want to try to talk to Yuri about it until he was sure he’d be able to let it go.

  


Several hours passed. Hours they’d planned to spend renting scooters and touring Amalfi, dining in some charming cafe, trying out the phrases in Italian they’d been practicing, and just...being together. The sun was almost completely set when Otabek heard the sliding glass door to the balcony grind open. He’d been lying on the bed in the other room staring at the ceiling for the past hour. Quickly, he leaped to his feet and opened the door, nearly colliding with Yuri, who was reaching for the doorknob. For a moment, Otabek just stood and looked at him. Yuri stared at the floor, his fair skin flushed bright red and looking as miserable as his boyfriend had ever seen him. Suddenly, he flung his arms around Otabek’s waist and buried his face in his chest.

  


“I’m an asshole,” he groaned, his voice muffled. Otabek huffed out a soft laugh into his bright hair.

  


“Sometimes,” he said gently. “But I know you don’t mean to be.”

  


“You skated so well, Beka.”

  


“Thank you.”

  


“Beka?”

  


“Hhm?”

  


“Will you...I...I need….I need you to…” Yuri fumbled for words, blushing even more hotly than before.

  


“Shh. I know what you mean. You agree that it’s fair?” asked Otabek gently. Yuri nodded. 

  


“Okay. I want you to go to the bedroom and take off your clothes and wait for me. I’ve been wanting to try something to help the work we’ve been doing on your patience, so I have to step out for a few minutes. I won’t be long. Okay?”

  


“Wh-what are you going to….I mean, okay Beka,” said Yuri, ducking his head. As Otabek picked up his satchel and headed for the door, Yuri slipped into the bedroom.

  


Their hotel was near a cute little outdoor market, so it didn’t take Otabek long to find what he was looking for. He didn’t want to keep Yuri waiting too long, knowing he’d be getting antsier by the moment, so he hurried as fast as he could. He called out as he opened the door to their suite to let Yuri know it was him and not be nervous about a maid or something seeing him in a certain position on their bed without any clothes.

  


“I’ll be there in just a minute,” he said, and heard Yuri’s agreement through the door. He went to the small bar sink and took out his purchases, using the small pocket knife to accomplish his task under a stream of running water. Unwrapping one of the sealed hotel glasses, he filled it with water and set the item he’d prepared into the water. Then he took a deep breath, turned, and walked over to the bedroom door. 

  


The sight that met him when he opened it made him smile. Yuri had obeyed him. Of course it was possible that he’d just laid on the bed until hearing Otabek come in, but the slight discomfort on his face told the older skater that Yuri hadn’t done that. Naked, he knelt on the floor beside the bed, his hands clasped behind his head. There was a slight tremor in the muscles of his arms.

  


“You can get up now, love,” said Otabek softly. “You did really well. I’m proud of you.”

  


“You shouldn’t be,” muttered Yuri as he climbed to his feet, staring as the floor. “I was horrible….”

  


“Stop that,” said Otabek sharply. “What is the rule, Yuri?” The boy sighed heavily.

  


“Once we’ve agreed to do this, I’m not allowed to talk shit about myself anymore.”

  


“That’s right. Taking care of this, and you...it’s my job now. Not yours. Now get on the bed with your head on your arms and your ass up for me.” Otabek’s voice was kind, but stern. Yuri scrambled to obey. He still hadn’t noticed the glass in his lover’s hand.

  


Otabek sat on the bed beside Yuri’s hip, running a hand gently up his thigh.

  


“Before we start, I’m going to add something new. When you asked me to help you learn when to keep your mouth shut, to be more patient with people, to learn self control, I agreed. And you’ve been doing so much better. I’m very proud of you. But sometimes you still struggle with patience and self control, so hopefully this will help you with those things.”

  


Yuri looked back over his shoulder and finally noticed the glass of water and the object inside it.

  


“Wha...what’s that?” he asked nervously. 

  


“This is a ginger root, love. I’ve peeled the skin and carved it into this shape,” said Otabek softly.

  


“What’s it for?”

  


“Have you ever heard of figging, bala?” Yuri shook his head. 

  


“Ah. All right. As I said, this is a ginger root. I’ve carved it into a shape like one of the plugs we sometimes play with, except it’s a lot smaller. It won’t hurt going in, it’s just to keep it from slipping all the way inside or falling out. People long ago used these in a couple of ways. They used them on horses to make them keep their tails held high so they’d look prettier, and they used them for public birchings. I know you know what a birch is, since you read that story online and said you wanted to try it. And we will sometime, but not today. First of all I don’t know if any birch trees grow around here, and secondly, I don’t really wish to be arrested for vandalizing trees in some public park and have to explain  _ that _ to my coach and my country’s team or the press.” He chuckled softly. “Anyway, the lawbreakers to be beaten would have these inserted in them because it would keep them from clenching to protect their more tender parts so the birches would hurt them more. We  _ won’t _ be trying that,” he added.

  


“Does it...will it hurt a lot?” asked Yuri in a quavering voice. Otabek stroked his hip.

  


“Not a lot, bala, no. Definitely less than many of the other things we’ve done together, things you’ve liked very much. But the thing about it is that the burn will be worse if you clench. So you must control yourself and accept your punishment with patience. I have faith in you, Yuri.”

  


“I’m glad one of us does,” muttered Yuri under his breath. Otabek chuckled softly. Because of course this would be hard for Yuri, and he had no doubt his fiery Russian lover would have to suffer a little before he learned that self control. But Yuri needed someone to believe in him more than he believed in himself. 

  


“Are you ready, bala?” he asked softly. Yuri took a deep, shuddering breath, then nodded. Otabek smiled. Swishing the ginger around in the water to make sure it was well-coated, he pulled it out, dripping, and quickly pressed the tip to Yuri’s hole. The mistake most people made with figging was using lubricant of some type out of concern for hurting their partner, but the lube created a protective barrier against the root’s juices. He’d studied this quite a bit before being ready to try it, and he knew that as long as the root was freshly peeled, and damp, it would excrete enough of its own natural, fragrant juice to ease the way. Slowly and carefully, he eased it inside Yuri’s body, biting his lip against a soft laugh at the way Yuri squirmed. The thickest part of the fig was not much bigger than two of Otabek’s fingers, so he knew Yuri would have no problem accepting it. He worked it inside, watching as his lover’s tight little hole swallowed it up, then rocked it back and forth to make sure it was seated in the right place so that it wouldn’t fall out. Yuri whined softly and rocked his hips, aroused by the sensation of being entered. Otabek saw the moment the juice began to work.

  


Yuri’s head came up with a violent jerk and his whole body tensed. 

  


“Ah! Beka, it...it stings,” he gasped.

  


“You’re worrying too much because it’s new. Pay more attention, Yuri. Control yourself. And you’d better relax, or it’s going to sting a lot more,” chided Otabek gently.Yuri lowered his head, and Otabek could hear him doing the breathing exercises he’d taught Yuri to try to use whenever he felt himself starting to get angry or frustrated.

  


_ “If you take a minute to focus on your breathing instead of on what is making you want to yell or insult someone, often you’ll find that you’ll be able to just let it go. So, here is how you do it….” _

  


Of course, that first day Yuri had become frustrated with the breathing exercise and had a temper tantrum and slammed out of the room, for which he’d been punished later, but he’d gotten better at it with practice, and it worked now. Slowly, the tension melted out of his body. His muscles relaxed, and his head rested once again on his arms.

  


“Better?”

  


“It….it tingles,” said Yuri slowly, “but it...doesn’t really hurt. You’re right. This is not so bad I guess. Okay. I...I’m ready.”

  


“Good,” said Otabek fondly. “Now, tell me what you need to be punished for today.”

  


Oh, it had been a battle to get to this point. Yuri hated having to point out his own shortcomings, and would have vastly preferred to have Otabek list his misdeeds for him. Otabek had agreed in the beginning, but he’d come to see that it wasn’t helping the other young man as much as they’d both hoped. Yuri had been improving, but allowing Otabek to tell him what he’d done wrong, continued to let him avoid some measure of responsibility. So the next time, Otabek had refused to punish him until he confessed out loud why he felt he deserved to be. They’d sat in silence for over an hour before Yuri had broken.

  


_ “I yelled at a fan who tried to stop me on the way to practice for an autograph because I was running late. There! Are you fucking happy, asshole?” _

  


So Yuri had been punished twice that day. He still hated the confessional part of these sessions, but a few months into it, he’d grudgingly admitted that Otabek had been right. From his terribly exposed position on the bed, Yuri sighed heavily.

  


“I shouldn’t have gotten so angry, especially at a little child. She didn’t mean anything by it. I’m not happy that her parents weren’t paying closer attention, because there are rules about throwing things onto the ice while a skater’s performing for a reason. We could get hurt. But they didn’t do it on purpose, and I refused to accept their apology. I..I was rude to the stadium officials when they offered to let me re-do my program. Refuse to skate here?” He laughed bitterly. “I’ll be lucky if they allow me back after some of the things I said. It’s my own fault I didn’t take the offer, and that’s why I lost. And….and I was awful to you. You...you skated so beautifully today Beka, and you deserve your trophy. Is….is that all right?”   Otabek leaned down and planted a small kiss on Yuri’s bare hip.

  


“That was very well done. And thank you. Did you pick something?”

  


“I...the crop,” mumbled Yuri into his pillow. This was another step Otabek had introduced fairly early on into these sorts of lessons. Yuri had to pick what he’d be punished with, and if it wasn’t severe enough, Otabek would pick something worse, but the reverse was also a conundrum. If Yuri chose something too intense for whatever his behavior warranted, Otabek would use it anyway. 

  


Traveling with at least a small assortment of BDSM toys anytime they had the same destination had taught them something the very first time they’d gone through airport security. Otabek no longer used a carry-on bag, except for his skates and uniforms and other essentials he’d need for competing, in a smaller duffel bag. All his other clothes, his toiletries, whatever books he might want to read, and their toys, he always checked. Not that the nice American security guards had  _ said _ anything, but watching his carry-on bag slide through the x-ray machine with the screen everyone could see had been more than a little embarrassing for both of them. Not to mention Otabek had practically had to sit on Yuri once they were on the plane and a woman with a knowing smirk had leaned over and told them quietly that the next time they were in the States she could recommend some shops or clubs that might interest them. Keeping one hand firmly clasped over Yuri’s mouth, he’d thanked her and actually written down the information. Then, before removing his hand, he’d leaned very close to hiss into Yuri’s ear.

  


“Just so you know, if you say one unpleasant thing to that woman, who was only trying to be kind, after I remove my hand, I will  _ probably _ be kind enough to take you into the bathroom to spank you, although if you are especially rude, I will likely consider asking her if she’d like to come watch. She gave me her card. I may still be new at this, but I know what a ProDomme is, and I bet she’d have some excellent tips.”

  


Then he’d calmly removed his hand and sat back in his seat, smiling smugly while Yuri had gaped at him in shock and outrage. And so, even though it was a little more expensive, they’d learned their lesson. Besides, checking his suitcase also meant a  _ bigger _ suitcase, and travelling a lot more prepared than he’d used to. 

  


Otabek nodded, satisfied, even if Yuri couldn’t see it, and got up to step over to the luggage stand beside the hotel room’s dresser, where he’d left quite a few things still packed in it. It still only took a moment’s rifling to pull out the slender riding crop. His dark eyes roved over a few other things, but they wouldn’t need them until later. Turning his back on his luggage, he returned to the bed, but didn’t sit this time.

  


“Move back toward the edge for me, Yura,” he ordered softly, then tried not to smile when Yuri obeyed him, letting out a startled whine when his movement caused internal muscles to flex, shifting the ginger root and igniting its burn. Once Yuri was settled, bare feet hanging off the end of the bed, Otabek reached up and grabbed the pillow, dragging it down to tuck it into his lover’s arms. “You’re probably going to need this. I’d rather not find out how thick the walls are here in a bad way, right?”

  


“Y-yes sir,” panted Yuri, obediently burying his face in the pillow. Otabek tapped the keeper of the crop lightly against the upturned bottom.

  


“It’s going to be different this time, baby. I’m not going to make you count. And I’m not going to just spank you with this until you cry, either…”

  


“Beka!”

  


“Quiet! I’m going to spank you with it until you’ve learned the lesson you’re supposed to learn. Do you know what it is?”

  


“I know, to not be rude to people, to hold my temper,” muttered Yuri, managing to sound nervous and a little irritable at the same time.

  


“Oh bala,” chuckled Otabek, drawing his arm back, “you’re going to be so  _ sore _ tomorrow if you don’t learn to pay better attention than that.” 

  


He used only the keeper for the first several strokes, it’s folded leather leaving small, biting stings all over Yuri’s pale, perfect ass. Yuri could take, or rather  _ enjoyed _ , a lot more intensity than that, so he barely made any noise at all, shifting and squirming under each stroke. Otabek could hear him cursing each time his body tensed in anticipation of or in reaction to the next blow. It only took a few minutes before he began to whimper each time.

  


“Beka,” he whined, “it burns!”

  


“I expect it does,” replied Otabek calmly. He kept up the quick, snapping little strikes until the entirety of Yuri’s backside and the very tops of his thighs were a nice, solid pink color. Yuri was panting and biting back little exclamations of pain into the pillow that had nothing to do with the crop’s impact. Otabek shook his head. Well, he wasn’t ever cruel to Yuri, so if the younger man didn’t remember eventually what the  _ real _ lesson here was supposed to be, he’d remind him. Eventually.

  


Pulling his arm back a little farther, he began laying down harder strokes with the tip of the crop. Yuri flinched, then yelped as the ginger fig did its job, flaring with heat as he clenched around it. After about a dozen of these, Otabek asked him again.

  


“Have you remembered yet?”

  


“Remembered  _ what _ ? Oww, fuck,” cried Yuri in frustration. “You said I got it all!”

  


“Mm,” mused Otabek, spanking him again. “Yes, your confession was perfect, love. But were you  _ listening _ ?” Apparently not, or at least he hadn’t remembered yet, since Yuri just cursed even more fluently and buried his face in the pillow, flinching and muffling a sharp cry into it at the next stinging blow. 

  


After taking as much time as he had to learn Yuri’s desires and limits, Otabek knew without a doubt that Yuri’s reactions at this point were most definitely mostly because of the ginger, not the pain of the spanking. He hadn’t even come close to giving the younger skater more than he could handle. Time to step it up a notch, see if actually  _ wanting _ his lesson to stop might jog Yuri’s memory. He adjusted his grip on the handle a little and stepped a little closer. The slender shaft of the crop, sheathed in finely braided leather, rubbed gently up and down the rounded, reddened cheeks. Yuri whined into the pillow, knowing what it meant.

  


He cried out as the crop lashed down, the shaft striking both cheeks at the same time, biting deeper and leaving a thin, darker line across the pretty, rosy hue of his ass. Which clenched instinctively at the increase in pain. Yuri yowled into his pillow. Otabek’s cool fingers softly traced the light welt rising up in response to the harsher stroke. 

  


“Think, Yura,” he admonished, then stepped back and raised the crop again. Carefully, with precision, he brought it down again and again, the flexible shaft biting into Yuri’s bottom harder and deeper, each stroke spaced evenly, in darker red lines from the crest of his cheeks down to the tops of his thighs. By the time he reached them and started to work his way back up, Yuri was starting to break. The muscles in his slender, lithe body flinched and flexed as he writhed, his cries muffled into the pillow so that no one would hear them outside the sanctuary of their hotel room. God, he was so beautiful. Always, but especially like this. By the time the strokes from the crop began to overlap, Yuri was crying a little. Another stroke, another hard flinch, and he wailed into the pillow.

  


“I’m sorry, Beka,” Yuri cried. “Please!”

  


“That’s not good enough, bala.  _ What’s the lesson _ ?” Otabek said sternly, spanking him again. 

  


“Fuck! I don’t….Ah! I already  _ said _ it all! Ohh, Beka, s-stop,” pleaded Yuri. 

  


“ _ Remember _ , Yura. This isn’t about what you did wrong today, is it? What did I tell you before, about when I’d stop?”

  


Yuri sucked in a hitched breath, as though about to repeat his plea, then went very still. Otabek waited. He could actually see the moment his stubborn little lover recalled his explanation for the ginger.

  


“I...I can’t,” he whimpered. 

  


“Yes, you can. I know you can.”

  


“It burns, I can’t help it!”

  


“ _ Yuri Plisetsky _ ,” snapped Otabek sternly, which had the unintended side effect of causing Yuri to flinch unintentionally, then let out a pained little sob, “don’t you dare forget that I am a figure skater too. I know  _ damn _ well what it’s like to skate for hour after hour, day after day, until the muscles in your legs are on fire and then when you go home at night the cramps are so bad you can only cry from it and then get up and do it again the next day. I know how to clean the insides of my skates because my feet are bleeding  _ again _ and then put them back on and go back out on the ice. I know you’ve been doing those things almost since you learned to walk, so do not try to give me some silly excuse like ‘ _ I can’t’ _ .  _ This _ ,” he continues patiently, snapping the crop down again, “and skating, and  _ living _ , sometimes the way you get through them and become the person I know you are, the one I love so much it takes my breath away...because you are brave and beautiful and sweet and  _ good _ ....sometimes you just have to stop  _ fighting _ everything so hard, and be patient, and yield to the pain instead of letting it suck you into a pointless battle you’re really only fighting with yourself.” 

  


“ _ Beka _ ,” Yuri gasped and sobbed again as Otabek punctuated his speech with a flurry of stinging spanks with the keeper of the crop right on the creases of his bottom where cheek met thigh.

  


“Stop fighting. Breathe. Accept it all. Trust me.” This time each phrase was driven into his flesh with the shaft again, nearly as harsh and unforgiving as a cane. Yuri, breathless and stunned by what Otabek had said to him, let the rigid muscles in his back go slack, sagging deeper into the mattress and pillow, knees sliding a little on the smooth bedspread as he stopped forcing his legs to stay locked tight, which served to spread him even wider, to tilt his bottom towards the ceiling. And he let his breath out in a long, shuddering sigh and  _ did not clench _ . A low, almost pornographic moan met those four hard strokes. No cruel flare of nasty fire attacked his sore, tender hole. Oh, he still felt it, but the heat didn’t burn like a mad thing when he stopped fighting it. Rather it tingled, still hot, but more like the painful but delicious heat of a steaming bath after being outside for too long on one of Moscow’s bitter Winter days, or of warming numbed fingers at a roaring fire. Or of the way it felt when they were too hungry for each other to be patient and he spurred his lover into taking him just a little too soon and the pleasurepain of Otabek filling him with his cock would ache and sting and burn in a wonderful way.

  


“F...fu...ck,” Yuri moaned at the next stroke, tears wetting the pillowcase as he actually became more aware of how sore and battered his backside was on the outside rather than on the inside. 

  


“So good, Yura. I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you. Can you take a few more?” Otabek’s voice had gone low and rough with love and pride and desire. Yuri nodded into the pillow before he found his voice.

  


“Muh-more, Beka,” he gasped wetly. “I need it.”

  


“Five more?”

  


“Beka. Noo,” whined Yuri. Otabek chuckled.

  


“I’m sorry, I forgot who I was talking to. A dozen more, then?”

  


“S’more like it,” mumbled Yuri, smooshing his face back into the pillow because he knew that once Otabek got to the “this many more” stage of things, he was going to really make them count. 

  


And he did. Oh, he did. Every single one of the last twelve strokes of the crop fell right across the center of his upraised ass, impacting the carved flange of the root tucked between Yuri’s cheeks. The ginger drilled into him along with the bright, searing white pain of the crop. Yuri didn’t flinch. He sobbed a little into the pillow, howled into it, but he didn’t flinch. His muscles stayed relaxed. Accepting. Beautiful. Otabek hurled the crop down impatiently and almost threw himself onto the bed with Yuri, gathering him into his arms and pulling him easily further up the mattress so their legs wouldn’t dangle off the end. Deftly, he reached behind Yuri and worked the fig out of his bottom quickly but gently, rocking it back and forth a little to loosen him before pulling it free so it wouldn’t break off inside, then discarding it after wrapping it into a tissue plucked hurriedly from the box on the bedside table (he’d try to remember to do a better job of disposal later, since the  _ thunk _ with which it landed told him the little wastebin beside the bed was likely empty except for that and even though the hotel had a reputation for being respectful and discrete towards its guests, there was no need to give any of the maids something to gossip about, not with the way the tabloids loved to snap up anything they could about Yuri and splash it across their lurid pages).

  


Yuri gasped a little when it was gone, burrowing his face against Otabek’s neck, arms and legs locked around him. Otabek held him back just as tightly as he went a little bit to pieces for a couple of minutes. It didn’t alarm him anymore. Yuri got that way sometimes after a particularly intense scene, rather than during it. It had embarrassed the haughty little Russian terribly when Otabek had anxiously asked him about it, early on in their ventures into learning about these kinks of theirs.

  


“Shut up, it’s nothing  _ bad _ ,” he’d muttered, flushing all the way down his neck. It had taken some more time and something perilously close to an actual fight to finally drag out of Yuri that he sometimes cried when he felt particularly overwhelmed. The understanding had come accompanied with Yuri’s (hopefully not truly) sincere threat to fucking kill him if he ever told anyone. Able to tell by then that Yuri’s self-respect had taken as many hits as it was capable of taking without some kind of spectacular eruption, Otabek had responded with a language Yuri spoke much better. He’d yanked Yuri over his lap and spanked him for even daring to think that Otabek would ever reveal the intimate details of their personal lives to anyone (as if he really talked much to anyone but Yuri anyway!), ever, then given him a spectacular blow job by way of both reward and apology. 

  


He knew now not to ask whether Yuri was all right. Otabek held on fiercely until Yuri had stopped trembling and his neck, while still decidedly damp, was no longer being re-wetted with tears. Then tucked the bedspread around him and went quickly to the small hotel fridge in the other room, coming back with a bottle of vitamin water and a banana. Yuri took the water from him and downed half of it in one go, then handed it back to him. Otabek solemnly took a drink from it, because Yuri Plisetsky  _ of course _ didn’t need any  _ fucking aftercare _ . They were both just rehydrating. Of course. They shared the banana too.

  


After that, after they’d snuggled back down in the bed together, Yuri was restless. Otabek waited, because Yuri always tended to be a little unpredictable after their “training” scenes as opposed to when they were just playing for fun. Actually, there were three different kinds of play between them. The most frequent were the kind that were foreplay, or actually rolled up  _ with _ sex. They’d discovered quite a lot of things they liked, and still had a pretty long list of things they wanted to explore, thanks to some interesting lists they’d found online, which had been entirely due to Otabek’s more cautious nature which had led him into doing research. If it had been left up to Yuri, they’d probably have just jumped into  _ everything _ blind, but Otabek had refused to do anything that might harm his lover or that he knew he hadn’t a clue how to perform. Yuri had found the BDSM checklist pretty embarrassing in some places, and had complained the whole time that it was stupid, though they’d both had some of the same reactions to certain activities on the list, like forced heterosexuality and gang bangs, while Yuri had threatened to gut him if he ever tied him up and forced him to pose for hours as human statue (Otabek sometimes wondered whether Yuri oughtn’t to have been tested for ADHD as a child, he got bored and frustrated so easily), or tried to use him as a human ashtray (“Yura, I don’t even  _ smoke _ ,” Otabek had protested, laughing). But after they were done, Yuri had waited precisely three seconds before jumping him. And it had given them a place to start, and things for Otabek to research until he felt confident enough to try them. 

  


Other times, Yuri came to him when his feelings of frustration and anger and sadness (he never used that word, just like he almost never talked about his family except for his grandfather, but Otabek had eyes, and he knew what sorrow looked like) got to be a little too much. Otabek would tie him up carefully and gently, and then use whatever toys on him that Yuri chose until the Russian was worn out and sleepy and content again, letting Yuri fall asleep in his arms after he lovingly provided  _ not aftercare _ . They never had sex those times.

  


But the times like today were different, and Otabek had learned to just be patient and let Yuri decide how he felt. Sometimes he wanted intimacy of a physical and more carnal nature, and sometimes he just wanted to curl up with Otabek (who never said the words “like a puppy” out loud but frequently thought them. Yuri, for all his sharp edges and prickly bits, craved touch and affection a  _ lot _ when they were alone) and watch a movie or one of his favorite TV shows until he fell asleep. Not only that, but today had been something new, and kind of intense, and Otabek wasn’t sure whether or not Yuri would be  _ up _ to having sex after the figging. 

  


Slender fingers trickling slowly up his chest and lips pressed to the sensitive skin behind his ear let Otabek know that Yuri had chosen. He squirmed over onto his side and their lips met.

  


“Hi,” he said softly. “You sure?”

  


“Hello yourself, asshole,” murmured Yuri, kissing him again. “Shut up and fuck me.”

  


“My pleasure,” whispered Otabek into his lover’s mouth, having learned from experience not to ask Yuri more than once if he was sure if he didn’t want to get turned down flat by a very annoyed young man capable of going from amorous to fighting mad in the blink of an eye. Not that Otabek didn’t know how to put a stop to it, but he rarely did, if Yuri was truly irritated at him. Yuri got enough of people trying to coddle him growing up; teachers, coaches, members of the press, fans, Junior circuit officials...all because he was small and pretty. Yuri yearned for real affection, not coddling. He was as strong as they came, and stronger than most. He’d had to be, and Otabek always wanted to respect that, as well a Yuri’s limits. “Be right back.”

  


He slid out of bed and went to fetch supplies from his suitcase, then hurried back, shedding clothes one-handed as best he could. Yuri reached up to help him when he returned, graceful hands reaching for his waistband while he dumped his burden on the bed and stripped his shirt over his head. Yuri’s hot breath ghosting over his cock through his boxer briefs threw his head back on a low groan. Dropping the shirt, he slid his fingers through the cornsilk strands of Yuri’s hair, tugging gently. Reluctantly, Yuri allowed himself to be pushed back onto the bed as Otabek slid back in beside him.

  


“Tell me what you want,” whispered the older skater, kissing his way up the slender column of Yuri’s neck to nip at his ear. Yuri’s ears turned red and he squirmed until he could hide his face in his boyfriend’s shoulder to answer him. While Yuri was capable of spewing some shocking filth both in and out of bed, asking for what he  _ wanted _ had taken him a while. It would probably surprise most people to hear it, since Yuri is so loudly demanding around practically everyone. Only Otabek knows how much of a front it really is. Or that it still surprises Yuri sometimes to get what he wants. 

  


“I...I don’t want you to open me up first. I wanna feel you. Make it last.”

  


“Hm,” said Otabek consideringly, then flipped the smaller man over onto his stomach. Yuri struggled, of course. Again, one of their many easy 10 minutes discussions about desires that had been dragged out until it had taken something close to a week. That had been a long time ago though. Most of the time when something new came up, Yuri could be dragged grumbling and hissing into a conversation about it in a couple of hours at the most, rather than kicking and screaming over the course of days. It had taken them just a day to become casual friends, then only about a month to become  _ good _ friends. Yuri had wanted a friend so badly he’d soaked it up like a sponge, at least coming from Otabek. The young Russian still insisted to this day that Viktor and Yuuri weren’t his  _ friends _ , they were just two lame homos who wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone (since they’d been naked in bed together the most recent time Yuri had made this claim, Otabek had glanced down at their entwined bodies significantly, then raised an eyebrow, at which Yuri had whacked him on the shoulder and grumbled, “Shut up, asshole. At least we don’t do all that gross lovey dovey shit in front of our friends. Or answer the door naked.” “I thought you said they weren’t your friends…” Otabek had teased gently. Yuri had scowled. Yuri was very good at scowling. “Do you want to get laid again sometime this month, motherfucker?” Huffing out a laugh, Otabek had rolled on top of Yuri. “I’d like to get laid again sometime in the next hour,” he’d said honestly. “Me too. So shut up.”). Yuri probably thought Otabek didn’t notice how his mobile face would light up when he’d get a text from Viktor or Yuuri, or get a Facebook notification that one of them had tagged him in a post, or how he’d harangue Otabek to hurry up and finish getting ready or they’d be late when they had plans with the other two skaters (they were never late, but Viktor and Yuuri almost always were, and it was always Viktor’s fault). Wisely, he’d chosen from the very first never to point these things out to Yuri. Otabek was mostly a loner because he chose to be. He liked the quiet, and too many people being around made him feel agitated and twitchy. It had been for Yuri, for the way the young skater’s aching loneliness had made his heart hurt once he’d become aware of it (which had taken all of about an hour), that he’d taken those first steps outside his solitary comfort zone, but he’d found that having a  _ few _ friends wasn’t so bad. Having Yuri? Worth every single frustrated headache getting to where they were had caused.

  


It had taken close to a year before they’d acknowledged that the feelings between them were more than just friendship. Getting Yuri to admit that he liked being submissive to Otabek had taken even longer. There were still plenty of things to work out, and to learn and explore, but  _ this  _ was no longer one of them. Yuri liked things rough. He  _ loved _ the way Otabek could manhandle him. He liked to struggle a little some of the time, but not to get away. He knew all he had to do to stop things instantly was use his safeword. He also loved knowing that Otabek would ignore everything  _ but _ that word. It had actually been Otabek who had balked a little at that one. Not so much out of unwillingness to believe it was what Yuri wanted, but because he’d been worried that Yuri’s stubbornness might at times lead him to refuse to actually use his safeword if he needed to. 

  


“Fucking  _ christ _ , Beka,” Yuri had finally snarled in frustration, throwing his hands in the air and stomping around the room. “Look. I want a World title and an Olympic gold medal more than I want any kind of kinky shit. I’ll never do anything to risk that, and that means I can’t miss practices or competitions because I let you hurt me when I know it’s the last thing you’d ever do on purpose and it was my own stupid fault! I know I’m stubborn. But I’m not  _ stupid _ , and I’ve had those dreams a lot longer than I’ve even known what my dick was for. If you don’t know if you can believe that I won’t be a hard-headed dumbass, you can at least believe  _ that _ .” Well. When he’d put it that way, it was a lot easier to believe. Yuri liked adrenaline. He liked riding on the back of Otabek’s bike at high speeds. He liked the thrill of the illicit things they did. He liked a little danger, and a surprising amount of pain (secretly, Otabek thought most skaters had to be a little bit masochistic at heart...bleeding feet, pulled muscles, broken bones, torn ligaments, they were all a part of the package, and even Otabek could admit that he loved it when Yuri pulled his hair and bit him and dug in with his blunt nails until they left deep, crescent moon shapes or long welts in his skin). But Yuri would never risk his dreams. 

  


So Otabek ignored Yuri’s struggles and his muffled curse and forced him flat on his stomach, wrestling an arm behind the smaller man’s back until Yuri finally went still. After ordering him to stay, and feeling reasonably sure Yuri was going to comply, he let go of the slender wrist. Using the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, he parted his lover’s red, welted cheeks.

  


“You’re going to have a few bruises,” he mused, pressing gently with the fingers of his free hand. “Here. And here.” Yuri moaned and arched his back. “Oh Yura.” Otabek’s warm breath ghosted over Yuri’s hole as he leaned down to inspect it. Yuri shivered. The tiny pucker was still swollen, blushing a deep pink, the sensitive tissue a looking puffy and irritated. “You’ll scream.”

  


Yuri panted as Otabek reached for the bottle of lube. Tilting it up, he squeezed a little out, letting the clear, slick fluid drip down at the very top of his crease to roll down over his asshole. With the tip of a finger, he gently stroked Yuri’s tightly furled entrance. Yuri moaned louder.

  


“Does it hurt, bala?” he asked, voice gone low and husky with desire. God, Yuri would be even tighter and hotter than usual, after the figging.

  


“Nuh-no,” gasped Yuri, squirming madly and lifting his hips, trying to get more contact. “Doesn’t hurt anymore. Ahh. Beka, c’mon!”

  


“How does it feel?”

  


“ _ Beka _ ,” whined Yuri. Otabek grinned and withdrew his finger entirely, smacking Yuri sharply on his rather well-punished ass. Yuri cried out softly and ground his hips into the soft sheets. “Ugh. You’re so mean. It...it  _ doesn’t _ hurt. It...ngh!” He exclaimed when Otabek resumed the gentle touching and circling of his hole. “Fuck. It feels so warm. Hot. More sensitive than I’ve ever. Oh. Ever felt.”

  


“I brought the cock ring. Are you going to need it, if you really want this to last?” 

  


“Fuck you, asshole,” growled Yuri. Otabek chuckled. It wasn’t inexperience or the excitement of new things that made Yuri so delightfully easy to get off anymore. He was just incredibly sensitive and responsive. Yuri was embarrassed about it, no matter how many times Otabek swore to him that he thought it was incredibly sexy. And he did. Who wouldn’t want a lover who responded so strongly to being joined with you that you hardly had to touch them to push them over the edge? Adding that responsiveness to the hormones of a young man at the peak of his sexuality meant Otabek could get Yuri off three or four times a night if he wanted to. It was an amazing boost to his ego.

  


“Watch it, you. I can still get to the riding crop easily enough, and I haven’t used my hand yet tonight much at all, so I promise you it’s not tired. I brought the gag and restraints too, if you want to keep being difficult.” It was only partly a threat, really. More of a question, to feel out what Yuri wanted. There was a longish pause, during which Otabek ignored Yuri’s encouraging hip-rolls, keeping the touch of his finger feather-light, and waited patiently. Whereas his lover had very little patience (this actually being a vast improvement over the zero patience at all he’d been able to claim when they’d met), Otabek had it in spades. Finally Yuri let out a noise deep in his throat that was equal parts frustration and embarrassment. He said something into the pillow that Otabek couldn’t quite understand. “What was that?” he asked, whacking Yuri on the ass with the palm of his hand again. Yuri moaned into the pillow and lifted his head enough to be heard.

  


“I said, just my wrists. And the...the ring. Damn it.”

  


“Anything you want, bala,” said Otabek softly, leaning over to press soft kisses between Yuri’s shoulders.

  


“It’s not that I want it,” muttered Yuri, blushing again. “Just don’t wanna look like an asshole when I come too soon. Again.”

  


“Yura,” said Otabek patiently, moving to the side of the bed, which brought a growl of impatience from Yuri since it meant Beka wasn’t touching him anymore, “that’s not it at all. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you how much I love how responsive you are before you believe me. You make me feel like I’m actually a good lover, and since I didn’t have much experience until you, that means a lot to a guy.”

  


“You  _ are _ .”

  


“Well, all I really care about is that  _ you _ like what I do. And when I can make you come, it pretty much proves you don’t hate whatever we’re doing. It’s not like you can’t get it up again in just a few minutes. I’m lucky to have someone like you. And I didn’t offer to use the cock ring to make  _ you _ last longer. If you want to leave it off, I’ll make it last anyway and see how many times I can make you come before you beg me to stop.” Yuri whined and rutted his hips against the bed as Otabek picked up the leather wrist restraints and began buckling them around his slender wrists. Otabek smiled. “But usually when you want me to ‘make it last,’ that’s not what you’re asking for. Besides, it feels so good when you come, if I’m gonna hold back, it’s easier for me if you have to wait too.”

  


Yuri peeked up at him from under the silky fall of his bangs, pleased and embarrassed at the same time.

  


“You wouldn’t just say that to shut me up…” Otabek couldn’t be sure whether Yuri was asking, or reassuring himself.

  


“I’ll never lie to you, Yura. Even when the truth makes you mad.”

  


“I know. That’s...that’s why I trust you. Yeah, I’m sure. I want it.” He tossed his bangs back and watched hungrily as Otabek clipped the two cuffs together. There was nothing to fasten them  _ to _ on the hotel’s bed, but it was really the idea of the bondage right now anyway. Yuri yanked, trying to pull his wrists apart, making the D-ring connecting them rattle loudly, then nodded in satisfaction when he couldn’t. “Make me feel good, Beka. I...I wanna scream for you.”

  


“Just make sure you do it in the pillow,  _ ote ademi _ ,” growled Otabek, plucking the leather cock ring up off the bed and sweeping the things he wouldn’t need off onto the floor. “You’d hate for the hotel manager to come knocking on the door and see you like this, bent over to be fucked, your pretty cock all bound up and dripping? Especially since by then, you’ll do almost anything if I just let you come, even if someone sees you.”

  


“Fuck,” whimpered Yuri. They hadn’t gone any farther than a little cautious groping under tables where no one could see in public, but Yuri had some pretty filthy fantasies about it. Whether any of them ever came true or not might be up for debate, but that it just really flat  _ did _ it for Yuri when his boyfriend talked about it? No debate at all.

  


“Get up on your knees.”

  


Even with his hands bound in front of him making leverage difficult, Yuri was almost impossibly graceful. Otabek groaned softly to himself and wrapped his fingers around his own cock, now achingly hard, as he watched Yuri gather his knees under him, back arching, the muscles in his back and thighs shifting as he slowly raised his hips. His knees slid apart, bit by bit, until they were wide apart, opening the crease between his perfect, pert little cheeks to reveal his swollen, pink little hole again, shiny in the dim light of the room with lube. 

  


“Tease,” growled Otabek. He reached between Yuri’s legs, fingertips ghosting over his balls and up his slender cock. One finger softly circled the head, already slick with precome. Yuri gasped and tried to thrust into his hand, seeking friction, but Otabek spanked him again and ordered him to be still. As hard as Yuri was, and a tight as his balls had already drawn up against his body, Otabek decided too much teasing there wouldn’t be the best idea. Carefully, he wrapped the slim leather strap around Yuri’s cock and balls, making sure not to catch any of the few, sparse fair hairs there as he snapped it on tight. Immediately, Yuri grew even harder, his cock darkening as it filled with blood. He groaned and started to lower himself back down to the bed, but Otabek stopped him, fingers digging firmly into his hip. “Don’t you move.” Yuri let his head fall, and just nodded.

  


Otabek moved so that he knelt behind Yuri. Cool fingers trailed up the back of his thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The young skater whined softly when fingers spread him open even farther. Otabek dripped more lube over the tiny star of his hole, then rubbed his thumb back and forth over the softening flesh. Yuri hissed and tried to push back, but his lover’s hands curling around his hips stopped him. 

  


“I think I told you not to move,” grinned Otabek, leaning over to bite sharply into the lower curve of Yuri’s left cheek, right where it joined his thigh, where his whipcord lean body still held just a hint of softness, and right over one of the welts left by the riding crop. Yuri opened his mouth to let out a cry, but it came out a strangled mess when Otabek abruptly sank his caressing thumb into his sensitized hole up to the knuckle.

  


“Beka,” he finally moaned when he remembered how to breathe. “Please!”

  


“Oh, so now you remember how to talk nice to me, huh?” Otabek chided fondly, gently twisting his thumb to thoroughly slick his lover’s hole. “Don’t worry, bala. You’re going to be begging a lot more than that before we’re done.” And he pulled his thumb out.

  


The first time Yuri had demanded that Otabek fuck him without prep had been kind of a disaster. It had been way too early in their relationship as new lovers, and they hadn’t known their own or each other’s bodies well enough. It had been quite some time before either had wanted to try again. The second time had gone a little better, but hadn’t lasted very long, aside from the  _ endless _ time Otabek had taken to painstakingly ease his cock inside Yuri’s body. They’d both been so worked up by then that they’d come in under a minute. They’d learned a lot since then, and knew each other’s limits. Otabek’s only concern this time was that he wasn’t sure Yuri was factoring in the ginger’s effects accurately enough, but generally, his rule as Yuri’s dominant was that whatever Yura wanted, he got, if it was within Otabek’s power to give him and wasn’t going to harm his hotheaded boyfriend. Fortunately, Yuri had been as good as his word and not taken any risks with his body’s well-being so far. 

  


He rose to his knees and quickly spread more lube over his own straining erection. Closing his eyes, he forced his breathing to calm and his heart to slow. Yuri had said “Make it last,” so that was what he’d do, even if it near killed him, and sometimes he thought it would. He’d never dared dream that someone as beautiful as Yuri Plisetsky would ever want more than friendship from someone as relatively ordinary as himself, someone he felt paled in comparison to Yuri’s hot flame. Not until the New Year’s Eve party after Yuri had turned seventeen when the slightly drunk teen had stomped behind him as they’d left their friends and headed for Beka’s bike (thankfully, they’d been celebrating New Year’s in the South of France and it wasn’t cold, and Otabek hadn’t been able to resist bringing his bike on the plane to ride along the azure blue waters of the Mediterranean), then, instead of taking the helmet Otabek had offered him, had grabbed two handfuls of the speechless Kazakh skater’s light jacket in his fists and smashed their lips together. It hadn’t been a terribly successful first kiss, but Otabek had thought his feet were going to melt right through the cobblestones. They’d...talked....after that. Sort of. 

  


Otabek still couldn’t quite believe all of this was his. But, mind-bogglingly (to him, anyway), Yuri thinks he’s beautiful too. Yuri thinks he’s cool, and kind of badass, and loves that Otabek’s bigger than him (no, he  _ really  _ loves it) instead of just ungainly, and doesn’t seem to see that the real reason Otabek doesn’t talk to most people very much is that people just, on the whole, sort of...escape him. In many ways, they’re very much opposites, and yet they also have so much in common that they fit together like pieces of a puzzle, into a whole. Otabek is a patient man. Having not been terribly interested in sex before Yuri, despite knowing he was gay, he’d learned to ignore the demands of his body. Having sex would have meant having to talk to people, strangers, and get to know them well enough to  _ presume _ , and it had been entirely too much bother, outside one half-way sort of boyfriend when he’d been 16, which hadn’t lasted even a whole year, and one drunken night in Hong Kong that he didn’t remember too clearly. He didn’t think the other boy had been a prostitute, as he hadn’t been missing any money when he’d awakened to find the young man gone, but he’d never gotten his name either, and the memory made him feel sort of dirty and ashamed, so he didn’t talk about it much. Yuri, apparently, assumed him to have a great deal more experience than he did and thus blithely counted on Otabek’s self control. Fortunately, Otabek’s self control didn’t have anything at all to do with sexual experience, but meditation, and thus hadn’t failed him yet. Though with Yuri in his arms, it’s been tested to its limits more times than he could count. 

  


Once he’s sure he’s gotten his own arousal back under a tight enough rein, Otabek presses the slick head of his cock softly against the flushed, swollen pucker of Yuri’s entrance.

  


“Last change to back out, bala,” he says in a low, raspy voice that sends a shiver up Yuri’s spine.

  


“Nngh...no. I want you. Oh fuck, can you just be fucking me right now?” complains Yuri, sounding a bit desperate. 

  


“You bet I can.” 

  


So slowly, with firm but careful rolls of his hips, he used his cock to open Yuri up, a little at a time so it won’t harm or tear him, but just rough enough so Yuri felt the burn of the stretch. The ache of being forced wide without any loosening of that exquisitely tight muscle inside him. Yuri’s thighs shook. His bound hands clenched tightly into the sheets. A high, hitched, keening wail escaped between his teeth. 

  


“AH! Be-Beka!” cried Yuri, shaking.

  


“What is it, bala?” asked Otabek softly, going a little slower, but not stopping.

  


“Ngh. Fuck. H...hurts….”

  


“Aw, Yura, you’re so beautiful. You’re doing so good, malysh.  _ God _ , so tight. Your hole is so red, bala. Looks so good stretched around me.” Yuri had, of course, insisted (at startlingly high volume) on multiple occasions that he  _ did not either _ have a fucking praise kink. Which was why Otabek reserved it for when Yuri was distinctly distracted by other things, like the intensity of taking his cock when he hadn’t spent at least several minutes stretching Yuri with his fingers first, and wasn’t likely to notice it was happening. Then he could let himself love the way Yuri’s cheeks flushed and he moaned hungrily, the way he’d tremble and determinedly make his body relax so he could take more, the way his cock twitched and his lovely eyes shone at Otabek when he peeked back over his shoulder almost uncertainly, as if he expected the words to be a tease. Otabek meant every word. It only took another minute of Otabek murmuring praise and encouragement to bottom out inside the burning hot, exquisitely soft, almost unbearably tight warmth of Yuri’s body, his hips pressed firmly against his lover’s hot backside, their balls rubbing together. Yuri buried his face in the pillow and hollered at the pleasure and deep, throbbing ache of his ass clenching around Otabek’s thick, heavy cock. He panted and squirmed, while Otabek held completely still, giving him time to adjust. It wasn’t long before Yuri was squirming and making cute little growly noises of frustration in his chest.

  


“C’ _ mon _ , Beka, I’m not gonna break,” he cried in frustration.

  


“Just making sure I don’t hurt you,” said Otabek through his teeth, because by then not moving was becoming a strain on more than just Yuri.

  


“I said it doesn’t hurt. Can’t even feel the thing anymore. Just so fucking sensitive I wanna jam a broom handle up my ass and fuck myself on it til I scream,” snarled Yuri, bracing his hands on the bed and pressing back into Otabek hard, grinding his ass against his lover’s hips. 

  


“You’d be in very deep trouble if you did that, just so you know. But I think I’ll have to remember the figging. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before. Okay, gonna fuck you now, just the way you asked. You know what to say to stop me.” It wasn’t a question, so Yuri didn’t dignify it with an answer. 

  


Otabek’s hands wrapped around Yuri’s hips, gripping tightly, his fingers digging deep enough to leave finger-shaped bruises in that fine, porcelain flesh tomorrow. Yuri would probably bitch about it, then look at them in the mirror and map them with his own fingers and smile to himself when he thought Beka couldn’t see. Very slowly, with infinite gentleness, he rolled his hips back, withdrawing his cock from Yuri’s tight, soft heat until just the head was caught inside. He paused for a moment, long enough for Yuri to grow impatient again, then snapped his hips forward, burying his cock to the hilt with a teeth-rattling thrust that shoved Yuri several inches up the mattress. Yuri’s cry in response already sounded wrecked. Scrabbling a little, he wrenched his bound hands up to slap them against the wall to brace himself as Otabek begins to fuck him in earnest. He’s in no hurry. Each withdraw was a slow, teasing drag, but each drive back into Yuri’s clenching ass a brutal, driving thrust with the bower of his toned skater’s muscles in his back and legs driving him so deep Yuri could probably taste him. In minutes, Yuri was a shaking, gasping, howling mess. His bound cock slapped against his stomach, smearing the evidence of his need all over himself. 

  


Purposefully, Otabek avoided Yuri’s prostate, just letting him feel the sensation of being filled over and over, the length of his cock stretching that oversensitive, swollen little hole, coring him open with ruthless jabs and then dragging back with great tenderness to do it again. If Yuri’s sobbing breaths were any indication, if felt pretty damn good. He kept it up for long enough that he could feel his thigh muscles starting to burn a little, and for an athlete in his condition, that was saying something.

  


“Beka please,” gasped Yuri, his voice ragged with desire, “I need more!”

  


“More, hm? Anything for you, malysh,” Otabek replied breathlessly. Leaning over Yuri’s body, he wrapped an arm around the slender waist and yanked the smaller boy upright, so that his back, damp with sweat, pressed against Otabek’s chest and abs, his head lolled back on Otabek’s shoulder. The position changed the angle of each hard thrust upwards, so that the head of his cock slid hard over Yuri’s sweet spot every single time. Yuri’s breath hitched in his chest. His body writhed against Otabek, agile as an eel, hips arching back desperately, chasing fulfillment. Looking over Yuri’s shoulder, Otabek could see his lover’s cock. It was dark red now, weeping at the tip so that it drooled down the length and over his balls, wetting the cock ring and even leaving a wet patch on the sheets below. He closed his arm tighter around Yuri’s body, holding him ruthlessly in place, and fucked a little faster into his pliant, desperate body.  _ He must be desperate to come by now _ , thought Otabek, angling his hips a little more so he could absolutely  _ nail _ Yuri’s sweet spot with every drive home into that perfect warmth, soft as velvet hugging his cock, tight and puffy little hole grasping as him as if to suck him back in. Lust dug teeth and claws into Otabek’s spine. He closed his eyes against the impossibly alluring sight and sank his teeth into Yuri’s shoulder right where it met his neck. Yuri wailed and quivered.

  


“Beka, Beka please,” he cried. Groping behind him, he slung his bound wrists over Otabek’s head to tug on his neck.

  


“Please what, love?” murmured Otabek against his ear.

  


“I...I need to come.”

  


“I don’t know, baby, you don’t sound all that sincere to me,” teased Otabek. He let go of one of Yuri’s hip to reach forward. With the tip of one finger he traced the length of Yuri’s straining cock from his swollen balls up to the leaking tip. Yuri shook like a leaf in the shelter of his arm and practically sobbed.

  


“Please, please Beka, I need to come. Please let me come.  I’ll buy you a new motorcycle. I’ll blow you every day for a month. I’ll do your  _ laundry _ !”

  


Holy shit, that  _ was _ serious. Yuri hated doing laundry with a fervor he reserved only for tabloids and girls who hit on his boyfriend. Possibly the only thing he hated more was being called “cute.” Especially by girls. 

  


“That bad, huh?”

  


“Beka!”

  


“Does it hurt, bala?”

  


“Please, please, it hurts so bad. I can’t take it anymore. Take it off, Beka. Please, take it off,” begged Yuri, completely lost to himself and his own need. He had to be, to be so honest and open with his desire. Despite the fact that Yuri loved to beg, it was hard for him to do, and he had to be driven to this very place, where nothing existed but them and shared, mindless passion and his walls shattered around him like thick, vicious, dangerous shards of broken glass. 

  


“I’m so close, Yura,” whispered Otabek raggedly, biting up the side of Yuri’s throat.

  


“In me,” panted Yuri harshly. “Fill me up. Let me come. Ngh. Oh god, bite me again. Beka, now, please, now!”

  


Well, when he put it that way. Otabek buried his teeth back into the powerful, corded muscle of Yuri’s shoulder, grinding hard to leave a lurid bruise that would still be covered by his costume. He shouted through his teeth as his vision went white around the edges, pleasure a hot, wild thing roaring through his blood. With a flick of his thumb he unfastened the cock ring, letting Yuri fall forwards. The younger skater buried his face in the pillow and  _ shrieked  _ as he came, his hole tightening, clenching over and over as it milked Otabek’s pleasure from his body, staining the sheets with his own spend. It seemed to go on forever, the endless, exquisite clench and release of Yuri’s muscles prolonging Otabek’s helpless spasms, a feedback loop of pleasure they fed each other back and forth. 

  


Finally, Yuri collapsed against the bed, a discarded marionette with severed strings, motionless as the dead. Gently, Otabek pulled out of him and was gratified by Yuri’s soft hiss of discomfort that he had not, indeed, actually killed a world famous figure skater with kinky sex. Rolling to his side so he wouldn’t crush the smaller man, He gently gathered Yuri in his arms. Yuri turned into the embrace with a groan of effort, snuggling against him like a contented cat.

  


“Okay, bala?” he asked softly, running his fingers gently through Yuri’s sweaty hair. 

  


“Yeah,” sighed Yuri. Then he tilted his head back and gave Otabek a severe look. “But we’re not renting scooters tomorrow.”

  


“We’re not?”

  


“If you think I’m riding one of those things over the cobblestones that cover this godforsaken city with an ass this sore, you’re out of your fucking mind.”

  


“Aw, c’mon, Yura, it won’t be that bad. Besides, when we get back to the hotel, I’ll kiss it all better,” wheedled Otabek.

  


“ _ All _ ?” asked Yuri suspiciously, raising an eyebrow.

  


“Oh,  _ everything _ ,” purred Otabek. “I’ll kiss all your bruises and tongue your sore little hole until you can’t remember why it ached in the first place. And…”

  


“Maybe that wouldn’t be too bad,” mused Yuri, feigning only mild interest even though they both knew perfectly well Yuri could come from Otabek’s tongue alone. Otabek continued his thought.

  


“...and then I’ll be able to make it all sore all over again.” Yuri was silent for some time. His bright eyes slanted towards the other room where Otabek’s suitcase lay.

  


“I guess it’d be a shame to bring all that stuff with us on vacation and not use it, right?”

  


“Terrible,” agreed Otabek, ribs creaking a little with the effort not to laugh. 

  


“Beka?” Yuri’s voice was quieter now.

  


“Hm?” asked Otabek sleepily, pulling him a little closer.

  


“I love you.”

  


“I love you too,” sighed Otabek, smiling, and pressed a soft kiss to the top of Yuri’s bright head. Yuri didn’t hear him. He was already asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Figging is misrepresented in a lot of fanfiction. Since I wrote this with specific requested kinks, I wanted to make sure to get them right. A lot of people write using ginger root for anal play as a very, very intense and quite painful form of punishment. It's not. It does sting a bit, and it's very...warm....but it's not very painful, especially if you just accept it and don't clench. If you do though, it becomes a little more tingly. And of course, if you don't want to feel it at all, do be sure to use plenty of lube first. If you do want to know it's there, wet the ginger with water after it's carved, and it's wetness and natural oils are all the lubrication you'll need. 
> 
> But as with all kinks, don't try this without researching it first. There are tutorials on how to carve a ginger fig the right way on the internet, and this is important. It's all to easy to lose it inside you or have it break off if you don't use it right. If your partner expresses more than mild discomfort and a little heat, take it out immediately. They could have a sensitivity to it or even an allergy. 
> 
> As always, my loves, play safe, and talk to each other.
> 
> Additional note: Oops, forgot the translations. Anyway, since their split with the Soviet Union, Kazakhstan is a bi-lingual nation. Most people speak both Kazakh and Russian, though the government has been trying to eliminate Russian as an official language. Otabek, of course, speaks both. 
> 
> Bala means baby in Kazakh  
> Malysh is a Russian endearment meaning baby or love  
> Ote ademi means pretty bitch in Kazakh


End file.
